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ROBIN YOCUM 101suspects for a single black wingtip. He was chased off by a dog at onehouse and an irate owner of the trash at another. I thought this was afirst-rate piece of detective work. But amid all the trash he found not asingle shoe—black wingtip or otherwise. As the weeks of summer passed and his eye returned to somethingthat resembled human, the near miss in the cemetery became evenmore disheartening for Travis. He replayed the botched mission overand over in his mind. Long before our night in the cemetery, Travishad convinced himself that the mystery man was, indeed, his moth-er’s companion on the boat. Who else, he reasoned, but a secret loverwith a guilty conscience would continue to make clandestine visits to agraveyard fifteen years after her death? Now, the opportunity was lostforever, since the mystery man certainly would never return. Looking back, it was easy to find flaws with our plan. The frontalassault had been a disaster. Why, we reasoned later, hadn’t we simplyhidden amid the tombstones, then doubled behind him? We couldhave been sitting on the hood of his car when he returned. It was sucha simple plan. We could have let the air out of his tires and demandedan explanation. Even if we didn’t recognize the mystery man, we couldhave gotten the license plate number and it would have been easyenough to track him down. If Travis Baron was anything, he was resilient, and after two weeksof flogging himself for the failed mission, he turned his attention backto Chase Tornik. We returned to the library and searched for follow-upstories on the homicide investigation that we might have missed duringthe first visit. There were none. “It’s a dead end,” Travis said. “Not necessarily,” I said. “Let’s track down this Tornik guy and findout what he knows.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 101 2/4/16 11:37 AM

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CHAPTER THIRTEENIn late July, Travis was ramping up his training for that fall’s cross country season. He hated running cross country, which he calleda sport for the brain-dead, but did it to keep himself in shape for wres-tling, which was his favorite sport. Unfortunately, on many days heinsisted that I run with him. He said it would get me in shape for foot-ball and provide him with company. I hated running. In part, because I wasn’t any good at it. I ran withall the grace of an albatross on take-off—arms and legs flying in everydirection. I was slow and, according to Travis, “clunky.” Travis was asmooth runner and he glided, each step effortless. Travis would stopby my house by seven a.m. and pick me up. We ran a three-and-a-half-mile route that wrapped up at the intersection at Main and Labellestreets. The danger in running this particular circuit was that at thecorner of Main and Labelle was the neat—very, very neat—red brickhome of Captain Troy Mathews, head of the United States MarineCorps recruiting office in Steubenville. The country was still at war inVietnam, and Brilliant males approaching draft age avoided CaptainMathews like he was . . . well, like he was the head of the local Marinerecruiting office. Nothing cleared the halls at Brilliant High School likethe crew-cut sight of Captain Troy Mathews, USMC. You couldn’t ask Mr. Mathews for the time without him launchinginto a sermon extolling the virtues of a career in the Marine Corps.At skit day at the high school two years earlier, the seniors did a skitin which a student portraying Captain Mathews was approached by apanic-stricken teenage boy seeking help because he and his girlfriendhad just been involved in a terrible automobile accident. The boy, 103Brilliant Death recto.indd 103 2/4/16 11:37 AM

104 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hdazed and bleeding profusely from the head, stood before “CaptainMathews” and pleaded for help for his girlfriend, who was seriouslyinjured and still in the car. To this, “Captain Mathews” responded,“I’m sure the medics will do a fine job trying to save her life, Billy, butif she doesn’t survive and you become overwhelmed with guilt andloneliness, perhaps you should consider an exciting career in today’sMarine Corps.” We were finishing a run on a muggy July morning when Travis madean unprecedented move for a Brilliant male, stopping at the Mathews’shome while the captain was edging the grass along his sidewalk. Captain Mathews had half-inch-long graying hair that stood atattention like a landing strip on the top of his head. He was dressed inolive work pants—never, ever shorts—and a pressed white T-shirt thatstretched across a pair of solid shoulders, which remained erect evenwhile he was doing yard work. I was bent at the waist, sucking for air. Captain Mathews looked at Travis and said, “You seem to be in alot better shape than your friend.” “Yes, sir. I am. He’s not much of a runner.” He flicked Travis’s abs twice with the back of his fingers. “Bootcamp would be a breeze for someone in your kind of shape.” Travis smiled. It had taken Captain Mathews all of five secondsto put on his recruiting cap. “I can’t imagine that Marine boot campwould be a breeze for anyone, sir, no matter how good of shape they’rein.” Sweat rolled down Travis’s face and dripped off his nose. His T-shirtwas dark gray with perspiration and tacked to his skin. “The Marines make men out of boys,” Captain Mathews said,bending back down to his chore. “What’s on your mind, son?” “What makes you think there’s something on my mind, sir?” The captain looked up, the thinnest of smiles across his lips. “I’mnot the sharpest knife in the drawer, Travis, but I know this isn’t a socialcall. Most boys your age avoid me like the plague. So you either wantto join the Corps, or you’ve got something on your mind. Which is it?” Travis said, “I was wondering if you’re still a sheriff ’s deputy.” “Yes, I’m still in the auxiliary.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 104 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 105 “Do you remember a detective at the sheriff ’s department namedChase Tornik?” The captain looked up from his work. It was, I imagined, the sameicy stare that some North Korean saw before getting a belly full ofbayonet. “I knew Tornik,” he said. “Once upon a time he was a terrificdetective.” “That’s what I’ve been told. Whatever happened to him?” “I don’t know, and I couldn’t care less. As far as I was concerned,they should have taken the guy out behind the courthouse and shothim—saved the taxpayers some money.” Captain Troy Mathews’s steelygray eyes turned to little slits and his jaw tensed, sending little ripples ofvibrations back toward his ears. “Where did this come from? Why doyou want to know about Chase Tornik?” Although Travis should have been prepared for the question, hewasn’t, and it caused him to stammer. “Oh, uh, no reason, really.” “No reason, huh? Out of the clear blue Ohio sky, and for noapparent reason, you stop by and ask the local Marine recruiter abouta crooked cop who went to prison, what, fifteen years ago?” Travis justshrugged. He was afraid to tell the captain the real reason for fear itwould get back to Big Frank. Fortunately, like most residents of Bril-liant, Captain Mathews was no fan of Frank Baron. “I don’t knowwhere Tornik went after he got out of prison. I know he got out quitea while ago; I remember seeing it in the paper. Regardless, he’s troubleand you ought to stay away from him.” He stood up with his trimmersand stretched his back. “I’ve got a pretty good idea what you want totalk to him about, but I’d advise you to be very careful. Sometimes, it’sbest just to leave the past in the past.” “Did you know your mother, Captain Mathews?” Travis asked.The captain swiped at beads of sweat on his upper lip but said nothing.“If it had been your mother, would you be able to keep it in the past?” I walked up alongside Travis. Captain Mathews looked away andstarted cleaning the blades of his trimmers with his fingers. “A couplemonths after your mother died, Tornik asked me about your dad. Youknow, the usual stuff—what did he do for a living, where’d he work,Brilliant Death recto.indd 105 2/4/16 11:37 AM

106 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hwhat kind of a guy was he. If a wife dies under mysterious circumstances,checking out the husband is standard procedure. The husband is alwaysa suspect. Tornik told me there was something hinky about your moth-er’s death, so he was trying to get some background on your dad. I toldhim what I knew about your dad, which wasn’t much. They checkedout his alibi and could account for his whereabouts the day beforethe accident. As I recall, it all checked out—gas and food receipts andthings of that nature—all the way to wherever he was going—Missis-sippi or Arkansas, somewhere down south, I think.” “If he thought it was a murder, who did Tornik think killed her?” Mathews shook his head. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Ifsomeone tells you something like that and it leaks out, all of a suddenyour ass is in a sling. I just told him if there was anything I could do tolet me know. Seems to me that Tornik went down in smoke not longafter that.” Travis nodded, wiped his sweaty palm on his shorts and extendedit to Captain Mathews. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” We had walked just a few steps up Labelle Street when CaptainMathews said, “Travis!” We stopped. “There is one thing I should tellyou,” the Marine said, taking a few steps toward us. “I’m no fan of ChaseTornik, but I’ll tell you this, he was a hell of an investigator. A hell ofan investigator. He had this uncanny sixth sense for knowing who hadcommitted a crime and how it went down. He just knew. It was incred-ible to watch. He could survey a crime scene, talk to a couple of neigh-bors, and say, ‘Okay, here’s what happened,’ and he’d start ticking it off,step by step. And by the time we got done with the investigation, I’llbe damned if he wasn’t right ninety-nine percent of the time. ChaseTornik had his faults, and they proved to be significant. However, if hethought your mother’s death was a homicide, I’d bet my bottom dollarthat there was something to it.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 106 2/4/16 11:37 AM

CHAPTER FOURTEENTravis got a job that summer working at the bakery across the street from his house. He gassed up the trucks each afternoonwhen they came back from their routes, then unloaded the stale loaves ofbread and cupcakes that were returned. He was saving his money to buya car, which he planned to use to drive as far from Brilliant, Ohio, andBig Frank Baron as possible, the day after he graduated high school. Therecent focus of Project Amanda had been to track down Chase Tornik.Travis had no idea how to do this. Since those who had worked withTornik spat out his name like a mouthful of soured milk, Travis reasonedthat Tornik was living the life of a recluse, forever shamed by his deeds. We sat in the back room of the Coffee Pot one late summer evening,Creedence Clearwater Revival playing on the jukebox, the rain fallingin waves and flooding the gutters along Third Street. “I’ve got a plan forfinding Tornik,” he said. I said, “I’m all ears, so long as it doesn’t involve climbing into yourattic or camping out at the cemetery.” “It doesn’t. I’m going to take the money I’ve been saving for a carand hire a private investigator to track him down.” “Really? Good plan. How much is that going to cost?” “I don’t know. I really don’t want to spend the dough, but I figureda private investigator could find him quicker than the two of us.” “How much money do you have?” “I’ve saved about eighty bucks, so far.” “I don’t know much about private investigators, Trav, but I’ll betthey charge a lot more than eighty bucks to track someone down. Whycan’t we look for him?” 107Brilliant Death recto.indd 107 2/4/16 11:37 AM

108 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H “Like how?” “I don’t know. Did you try the phone book?” He rolled his eyes. “The phone book? After what he went through,I doubt very much he’s going to be in the phone book.” “How do you know?” “Everyone we talked to would rather cuddle up with a leper thanChase Tornik.” “Lepers are still allowed to have a telephone.” “He probably doesn’t even live around here. How could you pos-sibly live in a town where you screwed up so bad that everyone hatesyou?” I shrugged. “You never know.” I went to the pay phone on the backwall and retrieved the Steubenville Area phone book from the shelfbelow the coin return. And there he was, snug between Torak, R. L.and Toronado, Thuman H. Tornik, C. W. 844 E. Wheeling Ave. . . . 883-3323 “Dammit. Why didn’t you suggest that to begin with?” he asked. “I knew it would somehow be my fault.” I shoved the phone bookacross the table to him. “You’re the brains of the outfit. I assumed thatwould have been your first move.” He was sitting on the porch steps of a duplex, extremely neat by thestandards of the neighborhood, with aluminum siding, new windows,and a porch so recently built that it had yet to be painted. On one sideof the duplex was an abandoned house with waist-high weeds andgutters sagging under their own weight, and on the other was a one-story brick ranch with the screen door hanging from one hinge anddirty, shirtless kids playing on a beaten patch of ground. It was our third trip to the south Steubenville neighborhood inBrilliant Death recto.indd 108 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 109search of Tornik. The first night he wasn’t home, so we parked downthe street and waited for him. One of the little brats from the brickranch pedaled his bicycle up to the driver’s-side door and asked, “Whatare you doin’?” “None of your business,” I said. “Got any money?” “Yeah, I’ve got money, but you’re not getting any of it.” The little turd called me an ass wipe and spit on my windshield ashe pedaled off. We waited an hour, but Tornik never showed up. We returned two days later. Again he wasn’t home, and again westaked out the house. The same kid came pedaling straight at my car.“You spit on my car again and I swear I’ll beat the livin’ . . .” Again, he hawked on the windshield and yelled “bite me, ass wipe,”while he pedaled away. Travis laughed. As we waited, a black kid noolder than ten started chucking rocks through the windows of the aban-doned two-story house on the other side of Tornik’s. This lasted untilmamma came out of a house across the street, picked up a two-by-fourfrom the yard, and started after him. He easily outran her, but the lastthing I heard her say was, “Thas awright, you have to sleep sometime.” Again, Tornik didn’t show. He was on the porch when we drove past on this Saturday shortlybefore noon. The neighborhood was full of the sound of kids yellingand crying, but if this bothered Chase Tornik you couldn’t tell. Hesat on the top step of his porch sipping an amber liquid from a clearglass tumbler. The morning paper lay neatly folded beside him, and hisknees served as rests for a pair of sinewy forearms. A cigarette burnedbetween the cupped fingers of his left hand, and he held the tumbler inhis right. They both looked natural in his hands, as though years of con-stant use had made them permanent appendages. He was neatly attiredin a white, short-sleeved dress shirt, pressed slacks, and polished blackdress shoes. Not a hair was out of place on a coif that was slicked downand a mix of dirty blond and gray. His face was scrubbed white andpockmarked across his cheeks and neck, his nose crimson and rocky, aBrilliant Death recto.indd 109 2/4/16 11:37 AM

110 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hmonument to the fluid in the tumbler. We parked just down the streetand walked back. He must have thought we were either Jehovah’s Wit-nesses or Mormons hoping to save his soul because when we neared hisporch he said, “Boys, if you’re trying to keep me from spending eternityin hell, I’m afraid that train’s already left the station.” Travis frowned at me. He didn’t get it. “We’re not out saving soulstoday,” I said. “Are you Chase Tornik?” Travis asked. The man lifted the hand that held his cigarette and shielded hiseyes from the morning sun, squinting first into the youthful face ofTravis Baron, then at me. One eye squinted in the glare. “I might be.Who wants to know?” “I do.” The man dropped his hand and took a short hit from his cigarette.“That seems somewhat obvious. How about him?” He nodded at me.“Does he want to know, too?” “Yeah.” “Okay, then just who might you be?” Travis swallowed. “This is my friend, Mitchell Malone. My nameis Travis Baron.” Slowly, the man nodded his head, the slightest of smiles pursing hislips. “Travis Baron, is it?” He had a rattling voice—dry and rough—thatcame from deep in his chest and sounded as if every syllable was utteredwith great effort. He took a last hit from the cigarette and flicked theburning nub past my ear and into the street. “Yeah, I’m Tornik.” “Do you know who I am?” Travis asked. Tornik’s nod was nearly imperceptible. “I’ve got a pretty goodidea.” He pulled a hard pack of Winstons from his breast pocket andused his lips to cull another smoke from the herd, never taking his eyesoff Travis. He worked his jaw and, I thought, was searching for a namethat hadn’t crossed his mind in years. In a tone almost as imperceptibleas the nod, he said, “Amanda Baron?” Travis nodded. Tornik lit the cig-arette, and a plume of blue smoke escaped from his mouth and curledaround his face. “You’re Amanda Baron’s son?”Brilliant Death recto.indd 110 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 111 “I’m surprised that you remembered,” Travis replied. “Remembering a name is no great feat. What can I do for you?” “I want to talk to you about my mother.” Tornik nodded for Travis to sit next to him on the top step. I stoodby the bottom step, leaning against the handrail. “I don’t know that Ican be much help. It’s been a long time. How old are you, anyway?” “Sixteen.” “Sixteen!” Tornik repeated. “Christ Almighty.” He sipped hisdrink. “It’s been that long, huh? Hard to believe. So, what is it that youwant to know about her?” Tornik had a calm demeanor and no edge to his tone. I got theimpression that he didn’t rile very easily, and I imagined that survivingseven years in prison as a former cop would make other problems seemsomewhat insignificant. “I’d like to know anything that you can tell meabout her, anything that you can remember.” “You sure I’m the right person to do that? Is your dad still alive?” “Yeah, but it’s not one of his favorite subjects. In fact, he won’t talkabout it at all. He’s old-style Italian with a nasty temper, and his wifegot killed while cheating on him, so it doesn’t sit very well.” “I suspect not,” Tornik said. “Mostly, I want to know why you thought she was murdered. I sawan article in the Herald-Star that said you were investigating her deathas a homicide.” Again, he sipped his whiskey. “That was a long, long time ago, son.I don’t remember the article. But, yeah, I was looking into her deathas a possible homicide. I recall that much . . .” His voice trailed off. Helooked at Travis and slowly shook his head. “I guess, now that I thinkabout it, I don’t really remember too much about the case.” He was lying, I thought. He was debating why he should tell herson what he knew. I could sense that he was uncomfortable with the sit-uation. “You remembered her name without any trouble,” I said. Tornik nodded. “Yeah, but I just don’t remember much else. I don’tthink I can be much help to you boys.” He picked up his newspaper andstarted to stand.Brilliant Death recto.indd 111 2/4/16 11:37 AM

112 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H “I can refresh your memory, if you like,” Travis said, standing upfrom the porch. I knew Travis, and I knew that tone. The conversationwas about to take an ugly turn. “You were doing an investigation intomy mom’s death when you got sent to prison for being a crooked cop.Does that jog your memory at all?” The words flew out of Travis’s mouth, and for a moment I expectedTornik to rake a backhand across his face. Tornik just frowned, bit hislower lip, and said, “You’re a bold little shit, aren’t you?” Travis juststared. “You talk to me like that again, boy, and you’re in for an asswhippin’. I don’t care how old you are.” “Do you think that scares me? My dad is Big Frank Baron. Asswhippin’s aren’t anything new to me.” “With a mouth like that I can understand why.” Slowly, as if toshow Travis that any further conversation would be done on his terms,Tornik tilted his head and dragged hard on the cigarette, inhaling deepand exhaling slow. “Why are you so interested in your mother’s death?” “If someone thought your mother had been murdered, wouldn’tyou be interested?” Tornik looked at Travis and nodded, blowing a plume of smokeover his head. “I suppose I would, at that.” He rolled the newspaper inhis hands. “Why did I think your mom was murdered? As I recall, therewere some things that just didn’t add up. Everyone thought it was anopen-and-shut case. She drowned and the river never gave up her body.End of story. But your dad was out of town, so why would she go outon a boat to have a fling? She could have just had someone over to thehouse.” I recalled what Captain Mathews had told us about Tornik. Hehad this uncanny sixth sense for knowing who had committed a crime andhow it went down. He just knew. “That was it?” I asked. “You started ahomicide investigation on a hunch?” “Nothing wrong with a hunch,” he said. “And, as I recall, we gotsome information that all wasn’t as it appeared. I started talking topeople who knew your mom, people from the church and . . .” Torniksquinted. “Where did she work? The library?”Brilliant Death recto.indd 112 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 113 “She was a volunteer at the library,” Travis said. “That’s right. I remember that now. I talked to some people thereand they all said it would have been highly unlike her to be out on aboat in the middle of the night with a lover—very out of character. I’mnot saying your mother was a saint, and I’m not saying she didn’t have alover, but based on the information I got from people who knew her, Ithink she would have had better sense than to be out in that boat in theOhio River in the middle of the night.” “So she had a boyfriend?” Travis asked. Tornik shrugged. “Maybe. But if she did, he wasn’t on that boatwith her.” “You’re talking in riddles. If it wasn’t her boyfriend, who was it?” “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I don’t know. I wasnever convinced that it was her on the boat.” “But the barge captain saw them jump off the boat and into thewater. I read that in the paper.” Tornik said nothing, taking anotherlong hit on his smoke. “If you’re trying to confuse me, you’re doing agreat job. If all these mysterious things were going on, how come noone investigated the case after you went to prison?” He finished the liquor in one eye-watering gulp, the ice cubespressing against his lip as he drained every drop. “No one else was inter-ested, I guess. Actually, I think there were some other detectives whohad suspicions, but I bet the real reason is that no one wanted to touchanything I had been associated with.” “Maybe they just thought you were wrong,” Travis said. “Maybethey looked at the case and decided it was just an accident.” He shrugged. “That’s possible. I don’t believe it for one second,and I don’t think you believe it, either. You think your mother wasmurdered.” “You don’t know that.” “Sure I do. That’s why you’re here. You’re looking for someone toconfirm your suspicions. You may not know much about your mother,but you just can’t convince yourself that it was an accident. You can’tconvince yourself that she would leave you at home, alone, while sheBrilliant Death recto.indd 113 2/4/16 11:37 AM

114 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hwent out for a rendezvous with her boyfriend. That’s why you’re talkingto me.” Tornik took a breath, looked at Travis for a long moment, thendropped the bomb. “You want to know the real reason why I startedlooking into her death?” Travis said, “Of course. That’s why I’m here.” “I was asked to do it.” “By who?” “Your grandfather—he thought she had been murdered, too.That’s why he called me.” “My grandfather Baron?” Tornik winced. “What? Hell no, not your grandfather Baron. Theother one. Her dad. I can’t remember his name.” “Virdon.” “That was it. Virdon. He was a military man. I remember that.He called me and said he didn’t believe it had been an accident. Hethought your mom had been murdered and then dumped off the boatto make it look like an accident.” “When was this?” “I don’t remember, exactly. It wasn’t too awful long after she dis-appeared, a couple of weeks, maybe a month. I remember that yourgrandfather didn’t think too highly of your dad. He said your mom wasplanning to leave your old man. I guess things weren’t going very well.Your grandfather believed with all his heart that she had been mur-dered. Frankly, I’m half surprised that he didn’t come up here lookingfor your dad.” “So it was that simple, huh? He had a bad feeling and you startedlooking into it?” “Pretty much. Have you talked to your grandfather?” “He’s dead, he and my grandmother Virdon.” Travis’s eyes boredin on Tornik. I could see the flush in his cheeks. “So now we’ll neverknow.” Tornik shook his head. “It’s been too long.” Travis stood, appearing to fight back tears. “Maybe that’s what youtell yourself, that it’s been too long. But if . . .”Brilliant Death recto.indd 114 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 115 “If !” Tornik said, his voice climbing for the first time as he cut offTravis’s attack. “If what? If I hadn’t screwed up and gone to prison Imight have solved the case? It’s water over the dam, son. I’m sorry, butthere’s nothing I can do about it now.” Chase Tornik grabbed his news-paper and stood. “If you want me to admit I screwed up? That ain’thappening. People can believe what they want about your mother, andthey can believe what they want to believe about me. I don’t give a shitanymore.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 115 2/4/16 11:37 AM

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CHAPTER FIFTEENThe chink in Margaret Simcox’s academic armor was exposed that summer. She could not parallel park. Margaret had taken driver’s education through the school thatsummer. She botched nearly every attempt to parallel park, and thoughshe earned her driver’s license, she also earned a “B” in the course. Ahalf-credit “B” in driver’s education put her behind Travis in their com-petition to be our class valedictorian. Travis took full advantage of thisand began calling her “Crash” every time they passed, and it nearlybrought her to tears. Our first football scrimmage of the year was against Harrison Local,a team made up of the sons of thick-necked Eastern Europeanimmigrants with such names as Waskiewicz, Mroczkowski, Zelkowski,Andreichuk, and Orizczak. We played them to a 12–12 tie, a moralvictory for Brilliant. I limped home from the game and found Travis sitting on theglider on my back porch, slowly rocking in the dark. “How’d it go?”he asked. “Pretty good. We tied ’em, 12–12.” I set my equipment bag on theporch and eased onto the glider to Travis’s left. “How’d you do?” “Not bad. Caught three balls—one was a nifty little over-the- 117Brilliant Death recto.indd 117 2/4/16 11:37 AM

118 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hshoulder grab with one of their safeties hanging all over me. Unfor-tunately, I followed that up by letting one go right through my handson a buttonhook. It hit me in the facemask and went about twentyfeet straight up in the air and they intercepted it. So that quick . . .” Isnapped my fingers. “. . . the over-the-shoulder grab was forgotten andthe muff remembered. It’s going to look really bad on the films.” “Coach Oblak will be so excited about tying Harrison Local thathe won’t even remember that drop.” “It happened on our last drive on their seven-yard line.” Through the darkness I could see him choking back laughter.“Okay, forget what I said, the coaches might remember that one.” “What are you up to?” “Well, I thought you’d like to know that I had a little chat with BigFrank tonight.” “About?” “My mom.” “Ka-ching. That’s interesting. What prompted you to do that?” “Actually, I blundered into it. I got home from the bakery, made asandwich, and turned on the TV, and the afternoon movie was Titanic,with Clifton Webb and Barbara Stanwyck. So I’m watching it and BigFrank comes in and sits down, and it’s right at the end of the moviewhere the ship’s going down and people are drowning all over the place,and Big Frank says, ‘God, drowning would be an awful way to go.’ Itwas out of his mouth before he realized what he had said. I told him,‘You know, Mom drowned, and you’ve never really talked to me aboutthat. I’d really like to know more about her.’” “Nice transition. What did he say?” “He said, ‘Your mother was a baldracca.’ He said it with this gut-tural Italian accent, just like my Grandpa Baron used to talk when hegot pissed off about something.” “So what’s a baldracca?” “I don’t know, but since he spat it out like a fly had flown into hismouth, it certainly can’t be good. I asked him what it meant and hejust looked away. If I had to bet, it’s probably Italian for whore. But heBrilliant Death recto.indd 118 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 119didn’t leave. He just got this look of resignation on his face, like he wastired, and said, ‘What do you want to know?’” “That opened the door.” “Yes and no. You’ve got to know how to work Big Frank. You’vegot to pick your shots. Ask him one question, be very specific, and hopeyou don’t cross that line in the sand that will cause Mount Baron toblow sky high.” “How do you know where the line is?” “That’s always the challenge with Big Frank. The line changes fromday to day, depending on his mood.” “What did you ask him?” “I said I wanted to know what she was like. What was her favoritefood? What did she smell like? How did they decide to name me Travis?Did she want me to be a doctor or join the Navy, or what? What kindof movies did she like? I wanted to know anything like that.” “And?” “Nothing. I don’t think he was trying to be evasive, or that hedidn’t remember. I don’t think he ever knew. He said, ‘Hell, boy, I don’tknow,’” Travis said, dropping his voice several octaves to imitate BigFrank. “‘It’s been a long goddamn time. Movies. She liked movies. Don’teverybody?’ I think it was probably a little embarrassing that he didn’tknow anything. I said, ‘Dad, what color were her eyes?’ He thoughtabout it for a moment and finally said, ‘Beats the hell outta me.’” “Green,” I said. “Right, but he had no clue. He was telling me about getting dis-charged from the Navy and moving back to Brilliant. Now, mind you,he remembers driving his 1947 Mercury convertible back to Bril-liant . . .” He reverted to his Big Frank voice: “‘The Merc, what a helluvacar, I bought it off a guy in my unit who couldn’t keep up with the pay-ments. That was one sweetheart of a ride, I’ll tell you that; had a three-fifty in it, damn, it was so sweet. I wish I still had that puppy.’ And hecan tell you that How High the Moon and The World Is Waiting for theSunshine by Les Paul and Mary Ford were the big songs on the radioduring the trip. He probably remembers the odometer reading fromBrilliant Death recto.indd 119 2/4/16 11:37 AM

120 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hevery oil change he’s ever had, but he can’t remember the color of mymom’s eyes. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?” “To be real honest with you, Trav, a lot of things about Big Frankstrike me as weird.” A coal train rolled past, making the windows behind us vibratein their panes. Its horn blasted as it neared the Penn Street crossing,echoing off the hills. I asked, “What did he remember about the night she died?” “He said he left Brilliant on a Thursday morning for Arkansas totake some coiled steel to a processing plant near Fayetteville. When hegot there, there was a message for him to call home. When he does, mygrandma Baron tells him that my mother was out on the river in theboat and drove it into a barge and they couldn’t find her. He said he wasthinking there’s no way, because she hated the boat and she hated thewater. He said he thought maybe someone kidnapped her and madeher go out on the river. He drove all the way back. That’s when he foundout that she and some guy were seen jumping off the boat. He said theboat didn’t have any running lights on and it drifted into a barge fullof iron ore. It was like a bulldozer hitting a storage shed and the boatended up in a million pieces.” “Did you ask him if he knew who the guy was?” “Yeah. He said he didn’t know and didn’t care. He called the guya coward who saved himself and let my mom drown so their affairwouldn’t be known.” “Did you ask him about the homicide investigation?” Travis nodded. “He said there was nothing to it. He said it was justTornik trying to add to his scrapbook. ‘Tornik being Tornik,’ is how hedescribed it.” “Did you tell him that we talked to Tornik and he said your grand-father Virdon had called because he suspected Big Frank of murderingyour mother?” “No, I do place some value on my life.” I smiled. “He was pretty forthcoming.” “Yeah, I know, he was actually pretty congenial.” Travis looked atBrilliant Death recto.indd 120 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 121me and frowned. “You know, I almost hate it when that happens. BigFrank’s more suited to acting like a complete bastard. When he actslike a human being it makes me think there’s something wrong in thecosmos. You know, like the world’s spinning off its axis.” I laughed.“Okay,” Travis continued, “here’s the best part. I asked him if he thoughtMom drowned because she got pulled down in the undertow of thebarge. And, he said, it wouldn’t have mattered because she couldn’tswim. He told me that twice, like he was really trying to emphasize it.He said, ‘Your mom couldn’t swim a lick.’” I nodded. “So, consequently, once she hit the water that night, shedidn’t have a chance.” “According to Big Frank.” “That makes sense to me,” I said. “They couldn’t get the boat awayfrom the barge and she panicked and jumped, even though she couldn’tswim. So why is that the best part?” “Turn on the porch light for a second; I want to show you some-thing.” I got up, my lower back aching from the pounding I had takenearlier in the evening, opened the screen door, and reached aroundthe corner, flipping on the overhead light. Travis had a folded pieceof paper in his hand, which was covering a metallic object. “This wasin that cardboard box we found in the attic. I thought it was neat tohave, but I never realized its true significance until this afternoon.” Hehanded it to me. The metallic object was a gold medal hanging from afaded blue ribbon. The front was a tarnished relief of Lady Victory. Onthe back was inscribed: First Place 1946 Princess Anne County Swimming & Diving Championships 200-yard freestyle “It’s a medal she won from a swimming competition when she wasfifteen years old.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 121 2/4/16 11:37 AM

122 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H I inspected it for several seconds and passed it back. “Maybe it’snot even hers.” “It’s hers. Inside that box was a purple velvet bag with a draw-string, like the kind whiskey bottles come in, and it was completely fullof swimming medals—dozens of ’em. The scrapbook had a couple ofnewspaper articles about her and swimming. Look at the paper.” I carefully unfolded the paper, which was yellow at the corners andalong the creases. It was a Red Cross Senior Life Saving Certificate.Written in fountain pen on the line below the words Presented To wasthe name, Amanda Virdon. “So not only could she swim, but she was a hell of a swimmer,” Isaid. “Exactly,” Travis said. “She was a lifeguard and a championswimmer. So why did Big Frank make a point to tell me she couldn’tswim?”Brilliant Death recto.indd 122 2/4/16 11:37 AM

CHAPTER SIXTEEN“Hey, mister,” Travis yelled. The man slowed his run across the rain-pelted gravel lot. “What?”the man called back, never stopping his movement toward the protec-tion of the cement block building in the corner of the lot. “Is Chase Tornik inside?” “What do you want?” “I want to talk to Chase Tornik.” “Why?” Loud enough for me to hear, Travis said, “None of your business,asshole.” Then he yelled, “It’s personal.” Through the rain and the only window in the front of the cementblock building on the far side of the lot, we watched as the man walkedacross the illuminated lobby and pointed toward us with a thumb.Chase Tornik walked out of an office and appeared to squint into thenight. Slowly, he pulled on a raincoat and a ball cap, lit a cigarette,and exited the building. Tornik hunched against the wind and rainas he crossed the gravel lot of the Ohio Valley Cement and MasonryCompany. Through the darkness and rain, Tornik strained to see theoutline of Travis and me standing beyond the seven-foot chain-linkfence with barbed wire that ran along Smithfield Street. As he nearedthe fence, Tornik said, “Harvey said some smart-ass kid wanted to seeme. I figured it had to be you.” “You don’t know any other smart-ass kids?” Travis asked. “I don’t know any other kids, period,” he said. Travis was wearing a thin windbreaker. His hair was plastered to 123Brilliant Death recto.indd 123 2/4/16 11:37 AM

124 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hhis head and he was shivering in rain the size of shooting marbles thatwere hitting like BBs. The wind blew across Travis’s face, sending drop-lets cascading in rapid succession from his chin and nose. I had grabbedmy hooded football raincoat out of the trunk of my car, which wasinsulated and covered me from my head to below my knees. I felt sorryfor Travis, but not so sorry that I would consider giving up my comfort.After all, he was the one dragging me up here for another go-aroundwith Tornik. We had gone to his house and found it empty. The olderwoman who lived in the other half of the duplex told us that we wouldfind him at the cement factory, where he worked as a security guard. “I thought you’d be back sooner,” Tornik said. “I’ve been busy. I need to know some things.” “You picked a beautiful night.” Tornik motioned us to the maingate, which he opened by pushing a button near an empty guard booth.We followed him into the block building and back to an office in thefar corner. Tornik pulled off his raincoat and ground out the nub ofthe cigarette, adding to the growing mound in the ashtray on his desk.A rim of cold ash encircled the ashtray, the residue of Tornik’s misdi-rected flicks. He lit up another and extended a hand holding the pack.“Smoke?” We both shook our heads. “Don’t start. My voice didn’talways sound like a cement mixer.” “Why don’t you quit?” I asked. He looked at me, inhaled deep, and began talking as the smokeescaped from his mouth. “After I got out of prison, I met this woman,Lucy Bannister, who was a social worker at the halfway house. Nice girl,good Christian. She’d been divorced twice. She had a severe characterflaw; she was attracted to men she thought she could cure of a lifetimeof bad habits, which probably explains why she was attracted to me. Wehad been going out a couple of weeks when she started badgering me toquit smoking. I wouldn’t quit. Finally, I said, ‘Lucy, on the day I got toprison, just after I got out of the van and into the indoctrination area,this big, black bubba walked up to me, leaned up in my face and said,“I’ve always wanted to fuck me a cop.” And that night, he did. And thenext night, and the next night, and the next night. So do you think I’mBrilliant Death recto.indd 124 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 125concerned about a little thing like lung cancer?’” I felt myself shake as awave of cold chills started in my spine and exploded through my entirebody. “Don’t smoke and don’t go to prison. That’s my advice.” He turned his attention to Travis. “Now, what do you want to talkabout?” “You said my mother’s death was suspicious. You said some thingsjust didn’t add up, remember?” “I remember.” Travis looked hard into Tornik’s eyes. “Who killed her?” “I don’t know. If I knew I . . .” “Who do you think killed her?” Travis asked, cutting Tornik off inmid-sentence. He dragged hard on his cigarette and for a brief moment lookedaway. “Look, kid, just because someone starts a murder investigationdoesn’t mean you automatically have a suspect. I know your grandfa-ther suspected your father, but that doesn’t mean he did it. Like I said,it’s been a long time and I don’t really remember if I had someone inmind.” “Mr. Tornik, I may be only sixteen, but I’m no idiot. I know if youhad a suspect, you’d remember who it was. I want to know. I’m des-perate to know. Was it my dad? If so, the least you could do . . .” I put ahand on Travis’s arm, cutting him off as his voice began to climb. Hisleft forearm felt like knotted steel, and his right foot went into over-drive, the heel bouncing off the floor in rapid succession. A wave ofcrimson was racing up his neck. I said, “Mr. Tornik, when we started poking around we were justtrying to find out about his mom, you know, what kind of person wasshe, stuff like that. But now, we’ve got more questions than we doanswers, and that’s mostly because of the story we found that says youwere investigating her death as a homicide. We know someone stillvisits her . . .” I stopped, not sure if Travis wanted that bit of informa-tion revealed. He nodded. “Someone still visits the memorial they have to herat the cemetery—to this day still puts flowers on her grave. Who doesBrilliant Death recto.indd 125 2/4/16 11:37 AM

126 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hthat after all these years? Somebody with a guilty conscience? We don’tknow. We’re just looking for some answers.” Tornik took a final hit off the cigarette and this time dropped thestub in a Styrofoam cup half-filled with coffee. It fizzled out. “Who doyou think is putting the flowers on the memorial?” he asked. “Like Mitchell said, someone who is having trouble living withtheir guilt,” Travis offered. He shook his head. “Not a chance. People’s consciences don’tbother them for that long. A guilty conscience lasts about forty-eighthours, not sixteen years. It’s someone who cared about her.” “Who?” Travis asked. “Guys, like I told you the last time, it’s been a long damn time. Idon’t remember all the details. And if I told you who I thought it was,you’d go out and do something stupid.” “We wouldn’t. I swear,” Travis said. “Uh-huh. You’d be on his front porch tonight.” Of course, Tornik was right. Travis looked at Tornik, anger andfrustration building on his face, blotches of red consuming his cheeksand ears. “You don’t know who it might be, or you’re just not going totell me?” “Both. I’m not sure, and for that reason, I’m not going to tell you.I won’t speculate so you can disrupt someone’s life.” “My dad said whoever she was with let her drown so everybodywouldn’t find out that they were having an affair.” “Your dad is guessing. Besides, if that is what happened, there’s nolaw against letting someone die. It’s cowardly, but not illegal.” “Goddammit, tell me what you know,” Travis said, his torso leaningtoward Tornik. “She’s on a boat, she jumps off, and the guy lets herdrown. You say that’s not a crime, but still you start a homicide investi-gation! Jesus Christ, what kind of mind game are you playing with me?Just tell me what you know, what you suspect. Anything. Don’t you seethat nothing here makes sense to me?” “There’s nothing to tell.” Travis squeezed the arm rests until his knuckles went white andBrilliant Death recto.indd 126 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 127looked like a miniature ridge of snow-capped mountains. “My dad wasright. You were in it for your own glory.” Tornik’s brows arched. “Really? That’s what your old man told you,huh?” “He said it was an accident, plain and simple. My mom was atramp. She was out screwin’ her boyfriend and got herself killed. Hesaid it wasn’t murder; it was just stupidity.” “You believe what you want to believe, son, but your mom was nota tramp.” “Oh, you remember that much, huh? You were trying to set mydad up to take a fall, weren’t you? This was getting a lot of attentionin the papers and you wanted a piece of it, didn’t you? Wasn’t that theplan, to send him to prison like those other guys you tried to railroad?” Tornik stood, came out from behind his desk, took a calmingbreath, and said, “It’s time for you to leave.” I stood. Travis crossed his arms and remained seated. “You sonofa-bitch,” Travis said. Tornik snatched him up by the collar of his windbreaker and inone surprisingly quick move, twisted him out of the chair and threwhim toward the door. I was moving behind Travis and herded him outof the building. “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place, huh, super-star?” Travis yelled back as we left the block building. “Why didn’t youjust tell me that you were standing on my mom’s body so the spotlightwould shine on you a little brighter?”Brilliant Death recto.indd 127 2/4/16 11:37 AM

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CHAPTER SEVENTEENThe remainder of our junior year passed without further progress on Project Amanda. Tornik wouldn’t talk. The mystery manwas no longer putting flowers on the memorial. Travis had again sys-tematically covered the town trying unsuccessfully to find a match forthe lone shoe. There seemed to be little else we could do. In early June of 1970, we hosted Steubenville in an AmericanLegion doubleheader. I pitched the first game and got clobbered 9–2.If that wasn’t bad enough, my cousin, Johnny Earl, hit two home runsand a double off of me. He chuckled as he rounded the bases after thefirst home run, and I tried to hit him in the ribs with the first pitch thenext time he came up. He just stepped back, let it pass, then hit thenext pitch into the elementary school playground. It scalded me thatwe shared the same DNA, and I hadn’t hit two home runs all summer.Johnny could be a knucklehead, but he could crush a baseball. We came back and won the nightcap 4–3, which brought me somemeasure of satisfaction. After the game, Johnny left with his sweaty armdraped over the shoulder of Dena Marie Conchek, one of the most beau-tiful girls I had ever seen. He winked as he passed by our dugout. There wasno justice in the world, I thought. Travis couldn’t find out what happenedto his mother, and my cousin Johnny was dating Dena Marie Conchek. Travis sat in the bleachers and watched both games. Afterward, Ichanged out of my cleats and back into my tennis shoes for the walkhome. “Your cousin is really good,” Travis said. “You think?” I said. I took my handkerchief from my hip pocketand blew eighteen innings of dust and the usual Ohio Valley pollutionout of my sinuses. 129Brilliant Death recto.indd 129 2/4/16 11:37 AM

130 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H “That one he hit in the playground would have gone out of ForbesField.” “Yeah, Travis, I know. I stood on the mound and watched it,remember?” He was silent as we headed down Second Street, and I could tellthere was something on his mind. “Out with it,” I said. “I want to track down my mom’s relatives,” he said. “That works for me,” I said. “Any idea on how we get started?” “I have a plan.” “You always do.” He grinned. “We start by tracking down some information on herfather. I know both her parents are dead, but I think he will be theeasiest to find because he was in the military.” “That’s a start,” I said. “Not much of one. If we could figure out where they’re buried,maybe we could work backward from there. You know, maybe find anaunt or uncle.” “Maybe,” I said. We took a few silent steps before I looked at Travisand squinted. “Refresh my memory. How did you find out that herparents were dead?” “Big Frank.” I stopped in the sidewalk, amazed. “Big Frank told you that yourgrandmother and grandfather Virdon were both dead?” “Yeah. So?” “Isn’t he the same guy who told you that your mom couldn’t swim?” Travis went back to working in the bakery, loading and unloading breadtrucks. He worked a split shift, four to eight a.m. loading the trucks forthat day’s deliveries, then again from three to five p.m., unloading thereturns that were sold at half-price at the discount store in the front of thewarehouse. Consequently, there was always a box of day-old cupcakes orBrilliant Death recto.indd 130 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 131cinnamon rolls in the Baron kitchen, which was the only thing Travis didon a regular basis that seemed to make Big Frank happy. The second week of June, Travis got excused from his afternoonshift at the bakery and we headed for Pittsburgh. The Pirates were intown against the Giants and, ostensibly, we were going to the game tocelebrate the arrival of summer and officially becoming high schoolseniors. This caused my mother’s eyebrows to arch, and she said, “Ihope this trip isn’t as painful as your last celebration of summer,” a snidereminder that she still didn’t believe our stories of how we came to beinjured the night we encountered the mystery man. The Pirates gameoffered a good cover for the next stage of Project Amanda, which wasour real reason for going to Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh is a traffic engineer’snightmare. Located at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monon-gahela rivers, the city was built around water and hills. The streetswere narrow and crowded by trolleys, which rumbled and squeakedand clanged, zipping by pedestrians who seemed oblivious to the steelmonsters. There was no semblance of order in the traffic patterns, andyou could become hopelessly lost in an instant. Still, there is no moremagnificent view than emerging from the Fort Pitt Tunnels to see thecity burst to life in gleaming steel and glass. As we came down off thebridge, we pulled into a nearby parking lot, just off the Boulevard ofthe Allies. I loved the city. It was a gritty steel town, still full of manyfirst-generation immigrants. The banter on the streets could be heardin any number of languages, and the air was full of the smell of smoke,sulfur, and cheap cigars. We walked the narrow streets, heading southin the direction of the Lafayette Building. We had hours to spare beforethe game, and the freedom of walking the streets of the city was invig-orating. There was, however, a fire down deep in my belly, a nervouschurning not unlike the feeling I got just before game time. We passed through Market Square, where street vendors wereselling flowers and fresh vegetables and newspapers were held downunder a stone and you paid your dime on the honor system, and pastTrinity Episcopal Cathedral, a monster of a stone building that hadbeen stained black by decades of steel mill smoke. The sun was shiningBrilliant Death recto.indd 131 2/4/16 11:37 AM

132 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hand hot. We bought Cokes from a vendor and continued to weave ourway across town. The jitters were getting worse as we neared the Lafay-ette Building at the corner of William Penn Place and Seventh Avenue.It was an old building, sixteen stories of dirt-stained red brick. It housedseveral low-budget law firms—ambulance chasers; a sheet music salescompany; several insurance agencies; Teamsters Local 203, whichmarked each of its windows with “UNION YES” bumper stickers; andthe Western Pennsylvania office of the Veterans Administration, whichoccupied the middle six floors. A security guard in the lobby sat behind a steel desk working acrossword puzzle, barely raising his head as we passed. A glass-encasedbuilding directory was on the far wall, where I found my target. “Youknow, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Travis said. “I know. I’m okay.” “Scared?” “Not scared. A little nervous, though,” I admitted. “Great, that means you’re ready. You’re going in alone, soldier.” “What? Why? I thought this was a team project.” “It is. But I’d just be baggage.” He was right, and when I turned after stepping onto the elevator,he had disappeared into the newsstand on the far side of the lobby.The elevator was small and slow, groaning its way to the fifth floor. Mythroat tightened as I stepped out and started down the hall in search ofroom 518. Like the others on the floor, the door was solid oak with afrosted glass window. Painted on the glass was: 518 Counseling Services I tapped lightly on the glass and a woman’s voice answered, “It’sopen.” I stepped into the small outer lobby where a receptionist sat. Shewas a stout, middle-aged woman with a friendly smile and several largemoles on her neck. Next to her, standing stiff-legged and leaning overthe side of the desk, was a man in his mid-twenties, handsome, withBrilliant Death recto.indd 132 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 133chiseled features and broad shoulders. He glanced up, “How ya doin’?”he asked. “Good,” I said. The man gave the woman a few more directions, tapping a paperon her desk with the eraser of a pencil, then turned and walked with anunsteady gait toward his office. “Can I help you, young man?” the receptionist asked, just aboutthe time that the image of my face began to faintly register deep in thebrain of Alex Harmon. He took hold of the door jamb and turnedslowly, his artificial legs moving in halted, jerky steps. He stared for a long moment, the gears continuing to churn.Finally, he asked, “Mitchell?” I picked up where I had left off three summers earlier and tearswelled in my eyes. “Good to see you, Alex.” “My God, I don’t believe it.” He took a couple of steps and extendedhis right hand, gripped and pulled me close, hugging me with his mus-cular left arm. “What the hell are you doing here, boy?” I returned the hug and took a step back, taking a quick swipe at myeyes with the back of my right hand. “I was in Pittsburgh for the Piratesgame and thought I’d stop by and see you.” “Damn. I can’t believe it.” He gripped my shoulders. “My God,look at you. You’re a man.” He slid his hands down to my biceps andsqueezed. “Been hitting the weights, huh?” “A little, sure.” “I guess. You’ve got some nice shoulders there.” He turned towardthe receptionist. “Rose, this is Mitchell Malone, my across-the-alleyneighbor back in Brilliant. Mitchell, this is Rosemary O’Hara, mysecretary.” The chubby lady smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Malone.” “Man, I just can’t believe this,” Alex continued. “I haven’t seen yousince . . .” “The parade.” “Yeah, the parade. Jesus, it’s been that long, huh?” I nodded.Brilliant Death recto.indd 133 2/4/16 11:37 AM

134 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H Alex slapped my shoulder. “Come on in,” he said, pushing metoward his office. “I’ve probably wondered how you were doing amillion times. Whenever I talk to my cousin I always ask about you,but he never seems to know anything. You’re going to be a senior thisyear, aren’t you?” “Yep. Can’t wait.” “Great. What do the Blue Devils look like this year?” “Not bad. We’re a little light on the line, as usual. But we’ve gotgood skilled people.” “Are you one of them?” I showed him my hands. “Split end, maybe a little tight end, andI’ll do all the kicking.” “Man, that’s great, Mitch, just great.” And so our reunion began. He was, it seemed, the Alex Harmon ofold. Laughing. Talking about football and Brilliant. “So, it’s been sincethe parade, huh? Well, let’s see, what have I been up to in the mean-time? I finished up my rehabilitation at the VA Hospital in Chillicothe,before they sent me to another veterans’ hospital up here for a mentalevaluation. The doctors in Chillicothe said I seemed to be adjusting tooquickly and too easily to my injuries.” “Is that true?” He shook his head. “Nope. It was harder than hell, but no amount ofbitterness or complaining or wishing was going to bring my legs back, soI needed to make the best of the situation. Fortunately, I hooked up witha therapist up here who believed me when I told her that I wasn’t goingto commit suicide or end up in a bell tower with a high-powered rifle.” “Good thing you got assigned to her,” I said. He smiled and pointed to a photo on the credenza of a gorgeousbrunette with perfect teeth. “I ended up marrying her. She’s the onewho got me interested in counseling. I didn’t harbor the bitterness thata lot of injured vets have when they return, and she thought that wouldmake me a good counselor. I’m about two courses away from a bach-elor’s in psychology at the University of Pittsburgh. I’d like to be car-rying a football for the gold and blue, but I just can’t cut back againstBrilliant Death recto.indd 134 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 135the grain with these things.” He smiled and knocked twice on his arti-ficial right leg. On the shelf behind his desk were Alex’s Brilliant football helmet,his all-Ohio certificate, and a trophy denoting him as Brilliant High’sfootball MVP his senior year. He saw me looking at the mementos andsaid, “I’m not on a big ego trip. I figured I need to show the guys whocome in here that I lost something besides my legs. I lost the plans Ihad for my future. I was hoping those legs were going to carry me to afootball scholarship when I got back from the war. I tell them, this isn’tgoing to be easy, but you can still live a full life.” He smiled. “You mighteven meet a beautiful woman who is completely out of your league andconvince her to marry you.” He winked. We had visited for an hour and I was a little ashamed that I hadwaited until I needed something to make the contact. Alex suspectedthe call wasn’t purely social. “So, what’s on your mind, champ?” hefinally asked, grinning. “What’s the other reason you stopped by?” “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.” I was such a coward. “Is that a fact?” Alex persisted, now smiling broadly, enjoyingwatching me squirm. “That’s a fact,” I said. “So there’s no other reason,” he continued. “You just wanted tolook up your old buddy.” “That’s it.” I forced a smile. Alex Harmon put his palms on the surface of his desk and usedhis muscular arms to push himself up. He took a few steps and easedhimself onto the corner of his desk. “My friend, you are such a terribleliar. How do you get away with anything at home?” I took a breath and looked away. “I don’t get away with much there,either.” “Probably not. You know, your Adam’s apple rolls like the tidewhen you lie.” “Yeah, so I’ve been told.” I rubbed that cursed Adam’s apple—mylie beacon. “Okay, out with it, champ. What’s up?”Brilliant Death recto.indd 135 2/4/16 11:37 AM

136 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H “I need a favor.” He nodded. “Shoot.” “Do you remember Travis Baron?” “Vaguely. I remember seeing him horsing around in the alley withyou. Frank Baron’s kid, right?” “Yeah. That’s the one. His mom drowned when he was real little.” “Sure. The big mystery of Brilliant. She was out on Frank’s boatwhen it got rammed by a barge. They never found her or her mysterylover. So, what about it?” “Well, for the past three years I’ve been helping Travis try to findout about his mom and her family. I’ll spare you all the gory details, butBig Frank doesn’t like to talk about it, so Travis was forced to do theinvestigative work on his own.” “And he hired you as his trusted assistant?” “The pay’s lousy and the hours are worse, but it’s been a lot of fun.”Alex smiled. “Anyway, in the process of this search, we found out thatTravis’s grandfather was a career Navy man. Travis asked his dad aboutthe grandfather, and he said the grandfather died not long after Travis’smom drowned in 1953.” “And you want to find out when he died?” “We want to find out if he died at all. Travis has asked his dad somequestions and he’s been pretty liberal with his versions of the truth.” Alex’s eyebrows arched. “Interesting. So, you want me to find outif the old man is still alive.” “Yeah. And, if he is still alive, where is he? If he was career militaryand retired, he’s got to be drawing a pension, doesn’t he?” Alex folded his arms and exhaled, long and slow. “You know, thoserecords are private. I get caught doing that and they’ll put my balls ina sling.” “I know. But we don’t know where else to turn.” For several moments, Alex stared out the window. Finally, hesmiled and squinted. “Did I ever tell you about the time Frank Baronswitched my ass raw?” “No, I don’t think so.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 136 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 137 “We were just kids, me and Jimmy Kidwell—about six, I guess. BigFrank lived in an old place up at the end of Shaft Row.” “That’s where they were living when Travis was born.” “Jimmy lived just a few doors down from Big Frank. He and I hadbeen down in the creek catching crawdads and minnows to sell to thebait store. We were coming back, cutting across Big Frank’s backyard,and we saw that he had poured some fresh concrete over the cistern . . .” “The what?” “The cistern. Before we got city water in Brilliant, everyone hadcisterns. They were like wells to catch rainwater. People used that waterfor their gardens so they didn’t drain their wells. Once we got citywater, they didn’t need the cisterns, so people capped them.” “Why?” “So little kids out catching crawdads and minnows didn’t fall inthem and drown, I guess.” “Okay. Go on.” “We saw that they had just poured this cap over the cistern, sowe found a couple of sticks and started writing our names in the wetcement. Well, we didn’t see Big Frank behind us. He grabbed a switchoff a mulberry tree, sneaked up behind us, and beat our butts royal—called us some names that I had never heard before, or since, and I wasin the army,” Alex laughed. “Needless to say, that was the last time wewent adventuring up to Big Frank’s.” “He’s a bastard,” I said. “Yes, on a good day he’s a bastard.” There was a light tapping at the door and Rose poked her head inthe door. “You’ve got a one-thirty with Mr. Lambert.” “Would you give him a call and tell him I’m running about tenminutes late?” She nodded and pulled the door closed. “Who elseknows you were coming up here to make this request?” “Just Travis. He’s waiting downstairs.” “Okay. You tell Travis to keep his mouth shut, and I’ll see whatI can do. No promises, mind you. If it looks like there’re going to beproblems, I’m going to drop it.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 137 2/4/16 11:37 AM

138 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H “Fair enough.” “What’s his name?” “Ronald Virdon.” “Navy?” I nodded. “Do you want me to call you back?” “No. I’ll get word to you. It may take a while, but I’ll see what I can do.”Brilliant Death recto.indd 138 2/4/16 11:37 AM

CHAPTER EIGHTEENOn the Fourth of July, the city blocked off the village’s two- block business strip, and the Brilliant Polish-American Clubheld its annual festival. Even as a young boy, I somehow knew the cel-ebration was special, a slice of Americana and one of the memories ofgrowing up in Brilliant that would remain with me long after I left. Thecarnies descended on the town several days prior to the festival to set upthe Tilt-A-Whirl; Scrambler; Ferris wheel; my favorite, the Octopus;the mini roller coaster that occupied the alley space behind the funeralhome; the Rock-O-Plane, on which I rode just once and vowed tonever again set foot in; and the deadly spinning tubs, in which, whenI was twelve, Snookie spun me until I slumped to the floor and cen-trifugal force pinned me against the wall of the car, making me so sickthat I sprinted past the mini roller coaster and hurled on the hood ofa 1959 Chevy in the used car lot owned by Urb Keltenecker’s dad. Thetubs then went on the list with the Rock-O-Plane. The carnies also setup games of chance, and it took me years of trying to knock down milkbottles and throwing softballs into tilted peach baskets and trying toclimb a rope ladder to realize they were all fixed. The civic groups set up booths for food—the Brilliant VolunteerFire Department had its fish fry; the Junior Women’s Club sold creampuffs; the Kiwanis Club sold caramel apples; the Lions Club roastedcorn in its husks; the Merchants baseball team sold barbecued chicken,which was cooked on spits over charcoal pits in front of Myron Feld-man’s house; and the Polish-American Club sold spicy sausage sand-wiches with fried green peppers and onions, the memory of which stillmakes my mouth water. 139Brilliant Death recto.indd 139 2/4/16 11:37 AM

140 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H Each year, a Brilliant senior-to-be would be named Polish FestivalQueen, an honor as coveted as homecoming or prom queen. She andher attendants would ride on a float in the Fourth of July parade thathad a plywood cutout of Poland propped up in the back and signs thatstated “Free Poland of Communist Rule” running the length of thefloat, covering the sides the way a duster covers the sides of a bed. At dusk on the Fourth, Ohio Valley Steel sponsored a huge fire-works display at the football field that could be seen for miles up anddown the valley. I liked to watch the fireworks from Fifth Street, whichwas a tarred and gravel road that ran parallel to the river across thewestern hills over Brilliant. From the front lawns on Fifth, the fireworksseemed to explode right in front of your eyes, and you could watch thestreams of fire reflecting in the dark waters of the Ohio River. Travisand I were sitting in the Denzels’ front lawn, a sloping bed of thicksod that was perfect for lying back and watching fireworks, when Mrs.Denzel offered us a burger off the grill and a Coke. “No thanks,” I said. I had always been taught to be gracious but notto accept such offers in case they were only doing so to be polite. “Oh, please,” she insisted. “We have more than enough.” We accepted the second offer and sat on the grass with a bottle ofCoke and a paper plate holding a well-done cheeseburger, potato salad,and baked beans. I was sitting next to the youngest Denzel girl, Laura,who was two years my junior. I had played basketball in high school andduring the summer league for Kennedy’s Market with Laura’s brother,Phil, who was two years older than me. Laura and her parents alwayswent to the games, but I had never paid her much attention. Then, shewas just an eighth-grader and Phil’s little sister. However, sometimebetween the last summer league basketball game and the moment whenI sat down next to her as the first rocket of the night exploded againstthe backdrop of the West Virginia hills, Laura had matured—greatly,magnificently, stupendously, in fact. Her sandy hair was trimmed neatlyabove the shoulders so that it fell back in a feathered wave. She had onpink shorts, a blue, midriff blouse exposing a tight belly, and the scentof her perfume—a hint of citrus—drifted my way. She gave me an occa-Brilliant Death recto.indd 140 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 141sional glance, sensing my interest, and I fell in love with her that moment.The booms and bangs and crackles of the fireworks echoed off the Ohioand West Virginia hills as the colored embers fell toward the river. It wason this perfect night that I began to realize that, my narrow escapes withTravis aside, the security of my youth and the cocoon that was Brilliant,Ohio, were about to slip into history. When school began, I would startplanning for college and Brilliant would become simply the place whereI had grown up. There were times when I wished time would stand still,and this night was one of them. The big news on this July Fourth was the passing of a Brilliantlegend. Earlier that morning, death had claimed the life of our bestcarp customer, Harold “Turkeyman” Melman. A lifetime of stompingaround the dump had finally caught up with Turk. He had stepped ona nail, or something that caused a puncture wound in his right foot.He didn’t tell anyone, having a terrible fear of doctors since he hadbeen hospitalized for the fierce beating he had taken some twentyyears earlier. The foot had gotten infected and one of the bank tellers,Pammy Yates, noticed that his body odor was becoming particularlyfetid, like that of rotten meat, and the Turk was looking pale and weak.She told her husband, who visited him and found that nearly his entireleft leg was eaten up with gangrene. It was amputated the next day, butthe infection had spread and went to his heart. Antibiotics could notstem the tide. He spent his last days in the hospital, out of his head withfever, muttering and crying. As he lay dying, Turk’s sister-in-law, Van, the wife of Turk’s onlybrother, Luther, a self-ordained minister and laborer at Ohio ValleySteel, sat at his bedside, kindly dabbing his face with a cold sponge,combing his hair, spoon-feeding him what broth he could swallow,plumping his pillow, and trying in vain with all her breath to extractthe location of the hidden cache of gold. But Turk was loopy with fever.He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow and repeatedly mut-tered, “Nomo teemo nomo. Nomo teemo nomo. Nomo teemo nomo.” These were simply the dying cries of an old man, a result of thetaunting and traumatic memories that would not allow him to go inBrilliant Death recto.indd 141 2/4/16 11:37 AM

142 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hpeace. Van, however, interpreted them as a garbled code, some type ofhidden message directing her to the treasure. She called her husband atwork and said, “He told me, ‘nomo teemo nomo.’ What’s that mean?” “I don’t know, Van. It sounds like gibberish,” Luther said. Van slammed down the phone and as soon as Turk breathed hislast, she bolted from the room and began scavenging the hill behindhis house. Late that afternoon, after news of Turk’s death hit Brilliant,Cloyd Owens stretched yellow crime-scene tape around Turk’s prop-erty in an effort to keep people from digging up the entire hillside. As the last of the finale faded to wafting smoke, the Brilliant HighMarching Blue Devils struck up the beginning of their annual show, ASalute to Old Glory, down the block in front of the post office. Travis reachedover and slapped my calf. “Let’s walk down to the post office. There’re somecute girls from Toronto in town—friends of Gretchen Mercer.” They had been cruising through town in Gretchen’s dad’s Mustangconvertible earlier in the afternoon. They were cute, but I wasn’t asinterested in them as I was Laura Denzel, and she was listening to everyword. I shrugged and turned away from Travis. “Laura, do you, uh, youwant to walk down to the post office and listen to the band?” “Sure,” she said without hesitation. “Let me ask.” She ran back to the porch where the neighbors had gathered toenjoy the fireworks. “Why’d you do that?” Travis asked. I didn’t sayanything, and after several seconds a wide grin spread across his face.“Nahhhhh? Get out? Laura Denzel?” “Don’t start, Travis.” He rolled back on his side and smirked. “She’s cute, man. Goodluck.” He twisted his head toward the porch to be sure she was out ofearshot. “She smells good, too.” “Yeah, I noticed.” She came back down the hill. “My dad said no, but my mom said itwas okay, as long as I’m back in an hour.” I could feel Walter Denzel’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look back. Inmy dating career, I had found that mothers seemed to like me; fathersdid not. Period. So I tended to avoid contact with the dads. I assumedBrilliant Death recto.indd 142 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 143that this wasn’t personal. Rather, it was simply the fact that I was ahormone-laden, male teenager with a fully functional penis, who hap-pened to be in the presence of their daughters. We walked down Ohio Avenue toward the biggest annual socialevent in Brilliant. It was a beautiful night and I was suddenly quitesmitten with Laura, and Travis was thoroughly enjoying the moment.The air smelled of cotton candy and fried dough. The amusement ridesthat extended down Third Street rattled and clanged, drowned out onlyby the calls from the bingo table. The post office sat at the corner ofOhio and Third, across from the Coffee Pot. We were slipping throughthe yellow shop-horse-style barriers that served as street blocks as theband began the first bars of “You’re a Grand Old Flag.” It was a niceconcert, though I had a hard time enjoying it because I couldn’t quitstaring at my watch, fearing that if I got too wrapped up in the patrioticfervor, I would be late returning Laura home. I walked her back up the hill, asked her to go out Friday night, andmet Travis back at the volunteer fire department’s stud poker booth.“Did you kiss her?” he asked. “You are such a tool,” I said. He grinned. “I’m up four bucks. Ready to call it a night?” “Let me get a sausage sandwich first,” I said. “A hot sausage sandwich at eleven-thirty at night? That’ll sit wellin your gut.” I bought the sandwich and began eating it as we walked down OhioAvenue toward my house. As we passed under the last string of lightsnear the bingo stand and into the canopy of maple trees that formed afoliage tunnel over Second Street, a male voice called out, “Hey, boys.”We both jumped. “What’s the deal with you two? You queer for eachother or joined at the hip?” All that was visible inside the Pontiac wasthe glowing ember of a cigarette. He turned on the dome light. It wasChase Tornik. “What are you doing down here?” Travis asked. “Looking for you.” “How’d you know where we’d be?” I asked.Brilliant Death recto.indd 143 2/4/16 11:37 AM

144 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT H “I used to be a detective, remember?” He pitched his cigarette outthe window and it skidded across the brick road. He looked at me andsaid, “That was a cute little girl you were with.” I nodded. He wavedTravis in with his fingers. “Come here.” “Think he wants to beat my ass?” Travis whispered. “He might, but I don’t think he’d drive down to the Polish-Amer-ican Festival to do it,” I whispered back. Travis walked up to the car, placing his hands on the roof above thedriver’s door. “I didn’t expect I’d ever see you again,” Travis said. “That little dust-up at the cement factory?” Tornik waved hisright hand at Travis. “I’ve been treated a lot worse. You didn’t hurt myfeelings if that’s what you’re worried about. You boys got a couple ofminutes?” “Yeah. Why?” Travis asked. “Hop in. Let’s take a little ride.” “A ride? Why?” I asked. “Jesus, man, relax. I’ve got something to show you, and I can’t doit here.” Travis looked at me; I shrugged. Travis walked around and got intothe front seat. I slipped into the back, situating myself behind Tornik. Tornik pulled away from the curb and drove down Second Street,sliding around the festival blockade, hopped on Third Street, andheaded south out of town. The detective remained quiet until he hit thesouthern boundary of Brilliant. “I didn’t know if your old man wouldbe at the festival or not,” Tornik finally said, breaking the silence. “Idoubt that I enjoy favored-nation status with him, and I really wantedto avoid any possible contact.” “The Polish Festival isn’t the kind of social event my dad usuallyattends,” Travis said. “He’d rather go up to Welch’s Bar and drinkhimself blind.” “I’ve got a little present for you,” Tornik said. “Look under yourseat.” Travis reached down between his feet and pulled out a manilaenvelope. “What’s this?”Brilliant Death recto.indd 144 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 145 “That,” Tornik said, taking control of the car with his left knee ashe slipped a cigarette into his mouth and fumbled with his lighter, “isprobably more than you’ll ever want to know about the investigationinto the death of Amanda Virdon Baron. It’s a copy of the investigativefile—most of it anyway.” “Most of it?” Tornik nodded. “I’m holding a little bit back. You digest all thatand maybe I’ll give you the rest.” Tornik pulled off at the Georges Run exit and drove to the parkinglot at Patty’s Diner, a popular, twenty-four-hour stop for truckersrunning the Ohio River route. “You want a coffee or anything?” Tornikoffered. “Nah. I’m good,” Travis said. He looked back at me. “I could use an RC,” I said. The sausage feltlike it was burning a hole in my stomach lining. Travis and I got out of the car. He leaned against the right frontfender of the Pontiac, unclasped the envelope, and flipped throughfifty-one pages of handwritten notes and a more formal, single-spacedreport. “Wow, it’s like a book; there’s a lot of stuff here,” he said, scan-ning the report by the lights trimming the soffit of the diner. When Tornik re-emerged from the diner a few minutes later, hewas carrying a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand and a twelve-ounce RC in the other. He handed me the soda, then set his coffee on aconcrete parking barrier and lit yet another cigarette. “How did you get this?” I asked. Tornik’s brows arched. “Now, you don’t really expect me to answerthat, do you?” “I guess not,” I said. “Let’s just say there are some folks at the sheriff ’s office who don’tdespise me quite as much as the others. And at least one of them owedme a favor.” Travis never looked up from the report. “Jesus, this is a lot of infor-mation. Did you do all this?” “Yeah, most of it. Before you get too far into that report, understandBrilliant Death recto.indd 145 2/4/16 11:37 AM

146 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hthis: I did not start the investigation to set up your dad to take a fall.Okay? I didn’t have to. He didn’t need my help. He did a fine job all byhimself. Your dad says that I was trying to set him up? Well, see what youthink after you’re done reading. Do whatever you want with that copy,but for the love of Christ, don’t let your dad find it. And if he does . . .” “I’ll never tell him where I got it.” “That’s the right answer.” “So, this will explain everything?” Travis asked. “I’ll read this andI’ll be convinced that my dad was involved in the death of my mother?” “Maybe, maybe not. You read that first, and this,” he said, pattingthe business-sized envelope that was protruding from his breast pocket.“This is the dessert I was telling you about.” Tornik pulled a small pieceof notebook paper from his pants pocket—a cheat sheet. “Look onpage nineteen.” He waited until Travis found the page. “Your dad wasgoing to lose that boat.” He pointed to a copy of a letter from the Steel-workers Federal Bank to Frank Baron, dated two weeks before Aman-da’s death. “He’d had the boat a little over a year—bought it from OhioValley Boat Sales—and he was six months behind on his loan. Thiswas a perfect way to lose the boat without having it repossessed. Theinsurance paid it off, and it provided a perfect cover for your mother’sdeath.” Travis read the letter aloud. Dear Mr. Baron: We have made repeated attempts to contact you concerning payment on Loan No. 53-0041717, which you received from Steel- workers Federal Bank of Steubenville for the purchase of a Speed- craft Pleasure Boat, Serial No. 1317. Your loan is now six months overdue. This note must be brought up to date immediately or we will be forced to begin repossession measures. You have three days to respond to this letter, a copy of which has been sent to the Jefferson County Sheriff ’s Department. Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter. Sincerely yours, Alfred Lawyer Vice President, LoansBrilliant Death recto.indd 146 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 147 “He was in hock up to his ass for that boat,” Tornik said. Travis shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he killed my mom. He didn’ttake the boat out on the river. He was on the road.” “No, that alone does not mean he did it. As you’re looking at this,pretend you’re putting together a puzzle, a puzzle of that instant intime when your mother died. It’s the big picture we’re looking at. Ina perfect world, it would show you how she died, where, and who wasresponsible. But you and I both know that isn’t possible. You’re alwaysgoing to be missing a couple of the pieces, so you’re putting together apuzzle where you’ll never get a complete picture. You with me?” Travisnodded. “What we do is look at all the pieces that are available, andwe try to put those together. Now, when we’re done, maybe we don’thave a complete picture with every piece of evidence that we’d like, butwe’ve put together enough of the picture that we can imagine what themissing pieces look like. That’s what we’re doing here. In itself, thatletter doesn’t mean your dad did anything, but it’s a piece of the puzzle.So you put it on the table and go look for the next piece.” “Okay, what’s next?” Tornik looked back down at his cheat sheet. “Page twenty-four.We found some of the instruments from the boat’s console. The switchto the boat’s running lights was turned off, but the ignition switch wasturned on.” “I don’t understand the significance,” Travis said. “If you’re out on the river at night, it’s common sense to keep yourrunning lights on.” “So? My mom probably didn’t know much about the boat. Or,maybe they didn’t want to be seen.” “Maybe they didn’t want everyone in Brilliant to know they wereout on the river, but they would certainly have wanted a barge to seethem. After your mom’s death, I went for a nighttime ride on thattowboat—the same one that was pushing the barge that crushed yourmother’s boat. That spotlight is strong enough to see a small boatdrifting in the river a mile away, maybe further. I think the lightswere killed on the boat because it was stashed in the brush near theBrilliant Death recto.indd 147 2/4/16 11:37 AM

148 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hbank—probably on the West Virginia side. When the barge got close,someone drove the boat out of the brush and toward the front of thebarge, but under the spotlight. By the time the captain saw the boat,it was too late to do anything. And here’s the important fact: It wasn’tdrifting, as was first reported. It was driven into the barge. That’s whythe ignition switch was on: because it wasn’t adrift, it was a kamikazemission.” “Kind of a wild-ass theory, isn’t it? They drove the boat in front ofthe barge and then tried to swim to shore? I don’t get it.” I watched Tornik roll his teeth over his lip, and his left eye twitchedlike a turn signal. Once again, Travis had lit his fuse. “There are two the-ories to the mystery, and one is that she faked her death and ran away.Since her body wasn’t found, no one can prove that she isn’t alive. Now,if your mother is still alive, which I seriously doubt, then what betterway to fake her own death? Witnesses see you jump in the river andyou’re never heard from again. The clothes and getaway car are parkednear the river bank. Bye-bye, Brilliant. However, if someone wanted tomake it look like she was killed on the boat, it’s just as perfect.” Travis winced. “Okay, let’s assume for a minute that you are rightand she was murdered. Do you think she volunteered to be part of herown murder? What did she do, agree to be seen jumping off the boatbefore she let someone kill her?” It was, I sensed, the point Tornik had been waiting all night tomake. He grinned. “Maybe that wasn’t her jumping off the boat,” hesuggested. “Maybe she was already dead—maybe in the water or in thehull of the boat. The accident was just part of the cover-up.” Travis looked at Tornik for a long moment and let his words sinkin. “I think you’re reaching,” he finally said. “You know what I think?I think she and her boyfriend were screwing and weren’t paying anyattention to what was happening to the boat and it drifted in front ofthe barge. End of story.” “Let me tell you something, pally boy, I tagged a lot of tail in myday, but I have yet to meet the piece of ass that would make me ignorea barge full of iron ore rolling down the river shining a spotlight andBrilliant Death recto.indd 148 2/4/16 11:37 AM

ROBIN YOCUM 149blasting his foghorn.” Tornik’s voice was climbing with each syllable.“You’ve heard those foghorns. They rattle windows for miles away.” “The newspaper story said the barge captain saw the boat driftingin front of him.” Tornik pinched his temples. “First of all, in a moment of panic heprobably couldn’t tell if it was drifting or moving under its own power.And, if it was drifting, why didn’t he see it before then? Someone drovethat boat into the path of the barge. The boat fairy didn’t just zap itthere.” I suspected that Tornik had gone to great lengths to get the inves-tigative report. He had stuck his neck out for Travis, who was refusingto look at the evidence. It seemed obvious to me that Tornik had rereadthe case and the old investigative juices were again flowing. He knewhis instincts had been right. Had he not screwed up his career and hislife, he would have solved the mystery of Amanda Baron’s death. I hadno doubt. Now, for whatever reason, Travis was in denial of every pieceof incriminating evidence. Tornik rubbed his right hand over his jaw, massaging a dark shadowas he tensed. “So tell me, kid, if you’re going to ignore all this, why inthe hell did you ever come to me in the first place? Just tell me that andI’ll get out of your hair, because it’s obvious that you aren’t interested inthe truth. For whatever reason, you’re being protective of your old man,when you should be being protective of your dead mother.” Tornik threw the Styrofoam cup and the remainder of his coffeeinto the gravel parking lot. “Look at the copy of the bill of lading. Doyou know when your dad scheduled his load? An hour before he leftSteubenville. Pretty damn quick turnaround, wouldn’t you say? Readthe interviews with the boat club members. Your dad’s boat wasn’t at itsdock the day of the accident. Your dad was on the road, the boat’s not atits dock, yet the family automobile is in the driveway all day.” “Now, there’s a revelation,” Travis said. “The boat’s out on the waterand the car’s in the driveway. Congratulations. That’s some dynamitedetective work.” “How did she get to the boat that night?” Tornik whispered,Brilliant Death recto.indd 149 2/4/16 11:37 AM

150 A B R I L L I A N T D E AT Hbarely controlling his rage. “It was a mile from where they lived to theboat club. She couldn’t drive the car or get to the boat because she wasalready dead.” “Maybe her lover gave her a ride?” Travis countered. “They found you in the crib. You’ve been investigating your mother.Do you think she’s the kind of woman who would have gone out withher lover and left a newborn at home? Think, junior, think! Your dadwas involved.” Travis pushed himself away from the car and faced Tornik. “Younever proved that.” Tornik stepped backed and laughed. “I’ve proved it to myself, kid.Let’s remember something—you came to me for help, and I’m tellingyou what happened. You can believe what you want to believe, but I’mdone helping you.” He took two steps and slid behind the wheel of thecar. He looked one more time toward Travis, shook his head, then spedout of the lot, throwing gravel and leaving us in a haze of dust.Brilliant Death recto.indd 150 2/4/16 11:37 AM